Thief: The Fourth Prophecy
by The hotdog man
Summary: A Harry Potter and Thief crossover, will eventually be HarryFleur. This is an experament and may change. So, let me know what you think. Rating for violence n' language.
1. The Fourth Prophecy

AN: This is an experiment I'm trying out. I'm looking to combine elements of Looking Glass's Thief series with Harry Potter. As such neither belong to me and are properties of their respective companies. This will eventually be a Harry/Fleur but that's a really really really really long time form now, just a heads up. Once again this is an experiment so take this chapter as a sort of test drive and let me know if you want me to continue with it at all. Thanks for reading.

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The Thief, thrice prophesied, shall guide the one… the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies. _

After reading the passage the cloaked figure closed the tomb. In the flickering candlelight, golden words read _Codex of Destiny_. The figure turned to another who seemed to melt away form the shadows themselves.

"This better be good Orland, I'm a busy man," said the specter.

"Garrett, after you vanquished Gammall, the glyphs all but disappeared from the face of the earth. In the aftermath my fellow Keepers and I searched through every book and relic to see what damage had been done to our records. All were erased as if they had never been written."

"Yes, yes get on with it already."

"Calm yourself Garrett, this is important. We believed everything to be destroyed until a scribe found this book here. It was found in the Forbidden Library, buried under quite a degree of devastation. What amazed us was that this tomb wasn't blank like all the others, it had writing. A prophecy no less, here, look."

The one known as Orland gestured to the relic, the shadow flowed effortlessly toward his destination. Opening the book, Garrett read the passage Orland had just finished reviewing. His brow furrowed in concentration.

"Notice it speaks of The Thief thrice prophesied, it can be none other then you."

"Well, it should be relatively easy to find this person, says here the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal. So, we're probably looking for some scar or tattoo or something."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Only problem is this passage here, born as the seventh month dies. That would be July right? How are we supposed to find and examine every kid born in the end of July?"

"July 31st to be exact. That should narrow our search by a significant amount."

"I take it we'll be hitting the hospitals then?"

"That would be a logical place to start. Let me know if you find anything," said Orland as he continued to examine the only remaining passage in the whole of the Keeper Libraries. "Garrett?" He turned to find himself alone with naught but his thoughts and a prophecy.

Garrett was never one for historical research unless it concerned the lesser guarded backdoors to high class estates. However, after breaking into a rather small hospital and checking the birth records, it seemed there were quite a few children born on July 31st. This then led Garrett to question just where this Dark Lord was stationed for then he'd know what areas to check for this golden child.

With that Garrett found himself back at a magical book store in a place known as Diagon Ally, thumbing through a book entitled _The Dark Lords of the past century_. Flipping to the 1970's to present section; Garrett came across one Tom Marvolio Riddle, better known as Lord Voldamort. Reading further down the article, he found exactly what he was looking for, this Dark Lord, the only one since Grindlewald to be exact felt it best to hang around Europe. Well at least I don't have much traveling to do mused Garrett as he questioned the shopkeeper for the nearest hospital.

_According to the shopkeeper there's a pretty large magical hospital around these parts known as St. Mungo's. This seems to be as good a place as any to look for our golden child, due to a few well placed stacks of coins the shopkeeper lent me a detailed map of the place. I don't even want to know why a bookstore clerk would need a map of a hospital. It seems the hall of records is the place I want to be. It's in the seventh floor, near the offices so it shouldn't' be too well populated. I'll break in at the dead of night; the usual hustle and bustle of the day should have ebbed away by then. If I'm lucky the guards won't be too well trained, after all what kind of action do you expect to see in a hospital of all places?_

The night was cool and dark, perfect conditions for a little escapade. Garrett, the Master Thief, stood on the rooftop of a building near St. Mungo's Hospital, mechanical eye gleaming in the moonlight; Garrett checked his equipment one last time. A quiver of broadhead arrows should he need a long distance kill, an equal amount of water arrows should he need to bath an area in darkness, five flash grenades should he be caught and in need of a quick escape, a handful of noisemaker arrows should he need to distract a guard from a certain area, some useful and reliable rope arrows to get to those hard to reach places. Of course this was all in addition to his trusty blackjack which rendered his opponents unconscious for hours at a time and the enchanted sword of Constantine. Garret the Master Thief was ready for business.

Aiming a rope arrow at the wooden banister of a balcony in St. Mungo's marked the beginning of Garrett's newest adventure. After a rush of wind the arrow hit its mark with professional results, the arrow then unraveled a long, sturdy rope over the edge of the banister. Garrett, scouting out the streets saw the coast clear; he leapt from his perch and glided effortlessly toward the rope, catching it, he climbed up and over the balcony.

He scampered over to a dark patch on the balcony and concentrated on the darkness, willing it to consume him into near invisibility. Feeling safe, he took the time to ensure he didn't alert anyone. He listened, listened for what seemed like an hour but he listened for even the slightest movement. Hearing none but the sound of his heartbeat and a few stray crickets he moved onto phase two. Pulling out the map he checked to see where he was, looking into the room he found it to be some sort of recovery room filled with plushy chairs and comfortable beds. Cross referencing with the map he found he was on the fifth floor, in the east recovery wing. Not bad, not bad at all thought Garrett as he eased himself into the room.

Examining the room further, he noticed the flooring immediately to be checker wooden panels, this surface wouldn't cause too much racket if he walked normally and that would allow him some freedom in his movements. Looking around he found a few crystal vases that would reel in a decent payoff, just because he was here for information didn't mean he couldn't cover his expenses, plus the rent was due in a few days.

Crossing the room, he eased the door open a crack to further survey his situation. He instantly noticed the marble flooring; this would pose a slight problem as marble made noise no matter how slow and careful you were, Garrett's only hope was that there weren't any jumpy guards about. Quietly passing through the small opening, he continued westward where there was supposed to be a staircase of some sort. He wasn't going to risk taking the elevator; there was no telling where it would stop for late night workers.

Walking down the hall, keeping to the shadows, and thanking The Builder that there were wooden sidings along the walls allowing him to walk somewhat freely, Garrett came across two unsuspecting mediwitches as they were called.

"Did you hear?" one asked.

"Hear what?" the other replied slightly irritably.

"The Potters, they were attacked two weeks ago. The very day Lily Potter had her baby."

The second gasped, "You don't think it could have been… You Know Who?"

"Who else could it have been? Oh it was a tragedy, the whole house was destroyed. They even had to use dental records to identify Lily and James. Oh and poor, poor Harry, the aurors didn't find him anywhere. They think Dumbledore took him somewhere safe."

"Dumbledore?" asked the second incredulously, "Patty, I know he is a great wizard but as of late I couldn't help but notice he wasn't exactly himself. Ever since Lily's baby he'd been edgy, always keeping an eye on them as if he were protecting some kind of treasure or something."

"Well you know how Dumbledore and the Potters were always on good terms with one another I'm sure he was merely looking out of the grandson he always wanted," reasoned the first.

"I suppose, it's still a shame though, he was so young and now no one knows where he is."

With that the two unsuspecting mediwitches walked right past the Master Thief himself.

_Interesting… I'll snoop around some more and see if this Potter name comes up again. I've got a feeling this is going to be a bit more complicated then I'd imagined. _

Garrett, hugging the walls, continued his way toward the stairwell which was inching ever closer. Finally parallel to his destination, Garrett leapt from the wooden paneling across the evil marble hallway and onto the stone base of the staircase. Stone was easier to walk on then wood, but nothing held a candle to carpeting. Quickly but cautiously making his way up to the seventh floor, Garrett put out many of the torches along his way with his trusty water arrows. He always hated going up stairs for long periods of time for one never knew when someone was just going to round the corner. This was the most direct route so Garrett couldn't complain.

Arriving at the Seventh floor, Garrett tried the knob, it was locked; no matter, Garrett the Master Thief could open any door. Pulling out two small, slender pieces of metal, Garrett got to work. First he inserted the square toothed lockpick, this would act as a place holder for every rung of the lock he opened, next he inserted the triangle toothed lockpick, this would do all the work. Shifting the two picks with expert hands, Garrett heard small rustling noises, then a satisfying click. The first rung was opened. There was really no way of telling how many there were, there could be anywhere form three to ten, the only thing Garrett was looking for was the lock on the door to go to the unlocked position; until then however, he would have to keep up his hunt for the next "sweet spot" as he called it.

After a few short minutes of wrestling with the lock, Garrett heard the final click and the door was his to command. Easing it open silently, he stepped in and almost by second nature concealed himself into a shadowy corner. The room beyond him was littered with cubicles, the lighting was reasonable but the cover of the cubicles made up for the lack of absolute darkness. Garrett reminded himself to be weary of those staying late, burning the midnight oil. The hall of records itself was behind a rather plain looking door on the far side of the room. All Garrett theoretically had to do was traverse the room and open the door and he was inside. Past experiences, however, proved that when things seemed easiest they were more then likely riddled with traps and security measures.

The shadow moved silently and with a fluidity that made a fish jealous. Half way across the room and there was still no sign of life in the medium sized office. Finally at the joining wall to the hall of records, Garrett found his obstacle. Two guards stood lazily at either side of the door. Garrett watched, listened, and waited for his moment.

"Chinese?" one asked the other.

"Nope," replied the second, bored.

"Pizza?"

"Yup."

Garrett weighed his options, he could knock one out and potentially have to fight the other, or he could shoot a noisemaker and lure the other two away from the door but assuming it was locked he would need a bit of time to open it, then again it could just be unlocked. Deciding on the latter option Garrett soundlessly equipped his trusty bow and readied a noisemaker arrow. Shooting it, Garrett saw it fly in a graceful arc across the room, all the while emitting a rather loud and obnoxious noise.

"Hell's bells! What was that?" questioned the first guard.

"Not sure but we'd better go check. Ah why does this stuff always happen on my shift," whined the second.

At this the two guards dashed past a smirking Garrett and proceeded down the room toward the source of the noise. Garrett, seeing his chance, rushed to the door and tried the knob; it was unlocked, what luck.

Slipping inside and closing the door, Garrett took a moment to gain his bearings. To his relief the flooring was stone. Rows and rows of tombs lined the walls, luckily for Garrett there were labels on each bookcase. Stealthily moving to the Global Birth Record section he found the volume for July 31st 1970 to Present. If his golden child wasn't in here then he didn't exist at all.

What amazed him was how few children of magical traits were actually born on that date. This fact narrowed the 1,758 possible children for Garrett to scout out to a nice round three; a Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, and a Fleur Delacour. Waddaya know same birthdates for all three, the girl's in France and we've got Harry and Neville, let's see where they live pondered Garrett.

After searching around Garrett found the Longbottom boy lived closest to the hospital. Just a short dash across the Thief's Highway and he'd be there in minutes. It turned out his parents were rendered brain dead by a group of Death Eaters, so the boy was sent to his grandmother.

The Potter boy, lived somewhere in Godric's Hollow, a bit out of the way, it'd take a few days to get there. Then Garrett remembered the conversation he eavesdropped on, if what those two medics said was true then the boy wouldn't be in Godric's Hollow. This left Garrett with a dilemma as he no longer had leads as to where the kid might be. Then again, why wouldn't the new residence be listed as it had for the Longbottom boy?

"If I lost my folks in a brutal slaughter where would I be taken?" mumbled Garrett as he thumbed through family histories. "Let's see, Potter… says here James is an only child… ah what's this Lily seems to have a sister, Petunia. I can see where the folks were goin' with the names."

If Garrett was to find this Potter child he would have to go to the aunt's house, luckily it wasn't too far away. Just in a little upscale town known as Surrey.

Finding sufficient data Garrett opened the only window looking into the hall of records, and vanished into the night, and onto the rooftops. His first destination: the Longbottom house.


	2. Hide and Sneak

A/N: Well thanks to the two people who're reading this. Here's chapter two.

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_As I suspected, the Longbottom house wasn't too hard to find after a bit on the Highway. The house itself is rather plain and though I don't have a map I'm pretty sure It's your run of the mill two story: two bedrooms, a bathroom, kitchen, etc. Pretty straight forward if all I'm going to do is simply look at a kid for any abnormal marks. I'll sneak in through the back as per usual, though I'm almost certain that there are precautionary measures covering this place. It looks a bit too innocent for my liking. I just hope I get this over with quickly. I've got a feeling this is gonna be a long night._

The street in which the Longbottom house resided was a shadowy one. Few decided to go for a stroll after dark, on normal nights the street would be desolate. Tonight however, the street was alive with the most activity it had seen in quite some time. A lone shadow slinked along the sidewalk, searching its target. 15 Taggart Ave was going to be entertaining a guest at two in the morning.

The Master Thief himself stopped in front of a rather plain house. The usual two story, brown shingles, white brick, sturdy front door. The house itself was regular in every sense of the word; it was the inhabitants of said house that were not exactly everyday folk. Nay, the two occupants of this house were magical beings, one a wizard barely the age of one, the other, a which, powerful and experienced.

Sighing tiredly, "A thief's work is never done," mumbled Garrett as he crossed into the dark backyard of the building.

Quickly locating the backdoor Garrett set to work with time tested skill. Effortlessly picking the lock, he tried the door; it didn't make a sound. Still cautious, Garrett edged the door open further, as he was expecting a jet of purple light shot out right where he would have been had he not suspected danger in the first place.

Sensing the danger gone… for now, Garrett let himself into the small kitchen. The flooring was white linoleum, difficult to tell whether or not it would make much noise, it all depended on whether or not it was applied properly. Taking a cautious step, Garrett found it was quite safe to walk on at a smooth pace. Crossing the kitchen he found nothing of use save for a few golden goblets. He didn't really enjoy stealing from the elderly but he was strapped for cash and whoever heard of a thief with a conscience anyway?

Crossing into the wood paneled main area, Garrett found himself in a rather nice sitting room. He was especially happy about the rug that sprawled from one end to the other in frilly little patterns. If there was one thing a thief liked it was carpeting, it muffled sound so much that one could sprint on it and still make hardly a whisper of noise. Scoping out the sitting room Garrett stopped by a simple glass coffee table, he found a single picture frame. Picking it up he noticed it moved like all other wizarding photos; but what he found particularly interesting was the engraving near the bottom.

"Frank and Alice Longbottom, James and Lily Potter," read Garrett quietly.

"If the Longbottoms knew the Potters, then the grandmother should know them as well shouldn't she?" Garrett questioned himself as he took a closer look at the latter occupants of the moving picture, who were looking at him with distrust. "Maybe I can find some more information, maybe where this Potter kid's been taken. That is of course if this Neville isn't the one I've been looking for all along, it'd sure as hell make my life a lot easier." Such calculations swirled in his head as he snooped around the dining area and found some particularly nice plates hiding behind a pathetic glass case.

Finding nothing more in the areas he'd searched, Garrett concluded that venturing into the upper areas of the house would be a good idea. Making his way back to the main hall Garrett stopped in his tracks. The staircase was ablaze with a small beam of light he hadn't noticed before. This meant only one thing, someone was awake, and judging by logical deduction that person was the grandmother. Dashing into a corner, Garrett held his breath.

"This better not be another false alarm," said a formidable woman as she held a stick out in front of her emitting the aforementioned light.

Garrett noticed immediately that the woman was using the lighting spell. There was both an up side and a down side to the common lighting spell. The up was that the beam was narrow and easily avoidable for the skilled Thief; the down was there was no way to extinguish it without a potential confrontation.

"C'mon where are you, I know you're in here you tripped the alarm. Foolish intruder, you won't evade me for long," taunted the woman.

Garrett, thinking quickly decided he'd have to knock the poor woman out. He didn't have time to dance around the woman for he was on a schedule and was looking to keep it. Slowly creeping along the wall, he inched closer to the unguarded back of the grandmother. She was occupied searching every inch of the sitting room when Garrett snuck up behind her, blackjack in hand, and swung. A mighty swing cut through the air like a sword through unprotected flesh, the woman dropped to the floor with a loud clunk; she would wake up five hours later wondering how anyone could have snuck up on her.

Garrett, seeing that the threat was dealt with, proceeded with less guarded caution then before. Nimbly moving up the stairs he found himself in a hallway, doors lined either end. He quickly searched with a process honed with years of practice. First he found a bathroom, no Neville or riches for his taking. Next was the master bedroom, he found jewelry, taking all of it he found no Neville. He was about to leave the bedroom when he noticed a small book laying on a nightstand. Opening it and lighting the nearby candle he noticed it was the journal of the woman how lay unconscious in the first floor. Flipping to the final entry he found luck to be on his side.

_September 12th, 1989_

_I've asked Dumbledore again for custody of Harry but he still refuses. He says the Dursley's have taken him in. I trust those muggles about as far as I can throw them. I don't think he realizes what those wretched people do to the poor boy; locking him in a cupboard and giving him meager amounts of nutrition is not a healthy environment for any child let alone The Boy Who Lived. James and Lily were great friends of Alice and Frank and I just know they'd want me to have young Harry if anything happened to either of them. Dumbledore… what are you trying to accomplish by putting the child into a hateful environment? I've decided not to give up on young Harry until he's safe playing with little Neville.  
_

"Boy Who Lived eh? These Dursley's, they're probably the ones who live on Privet Drive. Petunia, she must have married a Dursley. Well it looks like my job here is done," mumbled Garrett.

Making his way to the Keeper compound, Garret leapt from rooftop to rooftop avoiding the streets at all possible times. The aurors had him on their wanted list and he wasn't looking to get caught any time soon. Such was the life of a master thief, mused Garrett as he sprung from the roof of Olivander's to Madam Milkin's. Dashing his way to Knockturn Ally, Garrett started moving by the streets. They were dark enough for him to move freely and there were many persons both running and visiting the shops who weren't too keen on attracting the law. Turning into a seemingly innocent ally, Garrett moved a protruding brick. Seconds later the sound of stone grinding against stone could be heard until a doorway was open for his use.

The Keeper compound was taken right out of an old gothic castle, complete with winding staircases, stone slab rooms, and bookcases lining every wall; to top it all off there was a large amount of secret passage ways leading in and out of high ranking Keeper's offices and secret forbidden libraries. All in all Garrett found it all too easy to travel in and out of the compound unseen and unheard.

Making his way to First Keeper Orland's office, Garrett found him at his desk perusing the text that started this whole adventure.

"I found the kid," spoke Garrett in his usual gravely voice.

Orland, frightened, snapped his head up to see who had entered his office – his locked office. "Ah Garrett, it's just you. For a moment I'd though Gammall…"

"Heh, naw that… _thing_ is long dead, I made sure of that."

Sighing Orland spoke, "So you found him? Good, so who's the lucky lad?"

"Harry Potter, and someone went to some great lengths to try and keep his residence under lock and key. That alone confirms it."

"Nothing is a match for the Master Thief."

"You got that right. The kid's in a non wizarding town, Surrey I think it is. He's being held captive by his aunt and uncle, a bunch of upscale rich folk. I'm looking to break him out tomorrow night."

"Held captive?"

"After I left earlier tonight I paid a visit to the largest hospital in England, I snuck into their hall of records to find people born on July 31st and then cross referenced it with the reigning times of the last Dark Lord. It narrowed me down some but I was still in the four figure mark. So then I concluded that the one to defeat the dark lord should have some magical affinity, so I narrowed it down even further to somewhere in the two digits. Then finally, I excluded the squibs, and it got me down to a mere three: Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter, and Fleur Delacour. They all had exactly the same birth date July 31st 1989. I figured if it wasn't one of them it wasn't anybody."

"I see, go on," Said Orland pensively.

Taking a seat Garrett continued, "I then went to the nearest kid's house, Longbottom. I snooped around and found a journal entry saying that this Dumbledore guy hid Harry Potter in Surrey. That stuck me as odd seeing as the residential records in the hospital weren't updated to say Surrey."

"This Dumbledore, I've heard of him. He can be quite a snake when he wants to be. Garrett make certain Harry doesn't fall into his clutches."

Nodding Garrett stood and cracked his back. "Is my old room still around? I'm looking to get some sleep in before my next mission."

"Yes, right where it used to be. And Garrett, thank you for taking on this endeavor. It will not be easy yet I know in the end we will prevail."

Nodding again, Garrett disappeared into the shadows of the Keeper compound, heading toward some much needed rest.

_The Journal and the Family History from the hospital confirms it; the Potter boy is who I'm looking for and if what the Journal says is true then I don't have much time. Privet Drive is one of the snobbiest areas of Surrey, home to wealthy bankers and big shot businessmen. I don't doubt they'll have those fancy motion detecting lights, I'll have to be quick about finding a way in so as to not attract attention, should there be someone walking about at such an hour. _

_According to Orland, he'd sent some Enforcers to watch the house for anything suspicious or any potential entrances. He said they found a broken window in what looked to be a nursery on the second floor. _

_It should be easy getting ink. My mission is simple: get the kid, cover expenses, and get out. It'll be easier then sneaking into Bafford's._

The new moon greeted Garrett as he stood in front of 4 Privet Drive. Getting to work quickly, Garrett dashed around the side of the house in search of the broken window. The Enforcers had marked it with a simple sign in an effort to make Garrett's job a bit easier. Finding the arrow shaped mark, Garrett launched a rope arrow into the upper part of the window sill. Satisfied by the sound of metal embedding itself into wood, the rope unraveled, Garrett scurried up the rope. Finding the window slightly ajar, he eased it open with the patience of a cheetah waiting for its prey. First, one inch, then two more; slowly but surely sliding the window open, keen ears picking up the slightest disturbance.

Finally satisfied by the opening, he eased one leg in, then the other, careful not to accidentally step on a loose floorboard. Garrett was attuned to the dark, so much so that he could see nearly as well in the dark as regular people do in daylight. Therefore the sight that greeted him disgusted him slightly. The room was painted in a hideous lime shade, pink frilly elephants and giraffes lined the walls. Large amounts of stuffed toys rivaling mount Everest lay in a corner, seemingly discarded by their user. The crib if you could call it that was the size of a standard adult bed. Layers upon layers of blankets created a protective cocoon around what looked to be the largest baby Garrett had ever seen in his life. The only thing he could possibly compare it to was a fully grown pig.

Shaking his head to get the images out of his mind he looked around the room once more with cold, calculating eyes; there was nothing of importance or wealth in here, therefore he would more on. Dancing around the squeaky toys and other trinkets that were bound to knock him off balance, he finally made it to the door. Easing it open as he did all doors he found himself in a hallway. Trying the door directly across from where he stood, a bathroom greeted him. The next door was along the same wall as the nursery, it was rather small, possibly only nine hundred square feet, it stuck Garrett odd that this room be filled with what looked to be countless plushy toys and other assorted baby things. It seemed like some sort of second room for the mini walrus.

This left one room to be graced by the presence of the great Master Thief, the master bedroom. Entering, Garrett immediately took to the dresser, finding fat wallets, expencive reading glasses, bank accounts, and jewelry galore; Garrett felt he had hit the jackpot.

"The First National Bank and Trust didn't even give me this much loot," thought Garret as he stuffed his pockets with riches.

Moving past a sleeping giraffe and fully grown walrus, Garrett inspected the night stands, once again finding expensive reading glasses and loose change.

Figuring he'd found all the loot he could squeeze out of one residence he began his search for what he'd really come for. With that Garrett moved on to the lower section of the house. Unnaturally clean, Garrett was pleased to note the house was fully carpeted. After making a mental note to come back to this place some time later, Garrett began his search for the infamous cupboard which held the fated albeit starved boy.

First he checked the living room, finding nothing of loot nor child, he passed the stairs and went into the kitchen. He stopped immediately as he heard a faint, acidic rumble. He opened the fridge and took out whatever looked good. One wedge of cheese and a few apples later found Garrett once again in hot pursuit of loot and a boy with a destiny.

After searching through the entire house from top to bottom, Garrett was seriously thinking that this cupboard didn't really exist and the old woman set up some sort of trap for just the occasion should someone come snooping for information. Of course such thoughts immidately left him as he noticed a door that he swore hadn't been there before. It stood on the side of the stairs, no wonder he'd miss it. Turning the knob he noticed it was locked. Pulling out his trusty lock picks, he got to work. Five satisfying clicks later, the door swung outward accompanied by a shower of dust. Coughing slightly, Garrett entered the small storage area. It was there he found what he was looking for. Nearly suffocated under a pile of rags, an infant no older then two cracked a vivid green eye to see how the intruder was. Garrett quickly moved into the darkest corner he could find, it was all for not however, the infant struggled free of it's restraints and crawled boldly over to the vanquisher of the Trickster.

Reaching out and taking the young boy into his stealthy arms Garrett said, "You can see me. That's good, half your training is nearly complete. I'll make sure you're the greatest there is, I'll make sure no one kicks you around, and I'll make damn sure you're ready for whatever it is that's coming."

At this, the young boy's eyes lit up even further. Harry crawled over to one of Garrett's calloused hands and gently grasped his index finger with strength only a child could muster. A small smile presented itself on the young one's lips, it was a tired smile, a smile of one who hadn't seen a proper meal in a while; yet it was a smile none the less.

The boy reminded him so much of his younger self. Meager morsels of food, ribs nearly kneading his spine, living moment by moment not certain if the next would come. Yes, Garrett saw much of himself in the young boy. With that he made a silent promise to make this Harry Potter as he was called into the greatest thief next to himself. He would arm Harry with the tools he would need to survive as he himself received courtesy of the Keepers. Let it be known that from that day forward Harry Potter would off the face of the earth, and when he did return, he would be a force to be reckoned with.

Albus Dombledore woke in good spirits. After taking part in the daily ritual in which al civilized people take part, Albus stood by the window of his office with a steaming cup of tea and a beautiful sunrise. The sun had just peaked over the horizon, pink clouds calmed the intense orange of the sun, a light misty green colored the remaining sky until it too would become a vivid blue. Yes, the cool September day looked very bright indeed.

Turning from the sunrise Albus Dumbledore performed a simple spell he always did since the death of his two friends James and Lily Potter. It was a simple tracking charm he'd placed on their only son, Harry Potter. After all, he'd have to keep track of the little one if he was to have his weapon. After completing the charm, he wondered if he'd somehow improperly casted the spell he'd committed to second nature. After performing it again and once more, realization dawned on him much like a sunrise to a new day. Harry Potter was no longer at Privet Drive. Perhaps the day wasn't as bright as he'd first suspected.

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A/N: Well I'm sure you can tell I'm aiming for a manipulative Dumbledore in this one. It just seems to fit seeing as in Thief nothing was ever as it seemed. Well, thanks again for reading and please send your reviews/ideas I'm eager to hear them. I hope to have the next chapter up soon.


	3. Dumbledore's Dilemma Voldamort's Vengean

AN: It's officially M now people. Slightly graphic violence, suggestive language and situations. It'll only get worse as the story goes on. Also, thanks to the one reviewer who uhh reviewed. This one's for you.

Edit: fixed some spelling errors. Thanks to those who corrected me.

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The Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was best known for his calm nature. He was hailed for his ability to take any situation in stride no matter how high the obstacles may seem. However, if one were to stumble upon the Albus Dumbledore that greeted the great hall that day for breakfast, he would assume a cunning polyjuice potion had been used.

Professor McGonagall noticed the distraught look on her Headmaster's face as he hurriedly prepared his breakfast.

"Albus, what seems to be the matter?" she asked genuinely concerned for her longtime colleague and friend.

Snapped out of his haste, Dumbledore replied, "Ah, Minerva, it seems some rather troubling news has come to my attention. Yes, I am in a bit of a rush today."

Curiosity peaked, the Deputy Headmistress questioned, "What could be the matter Albus to have you worked up in such a state?"

"A few owls improperly delivered their mail. I'm not sure how they were run astray but now there are a handful of very confused muggles receiving mail about Hogwarts. I will have to inform the ministry." That would keep her at bay for now, thought Dumbledore silently.

"I see, I shall send word then shall I?"

"Oh no! No, that's quite alright Minerva, I've got it under control," said Dumbledore hurriedly.

Making sure to inquire about his odd behavior at a later time the Deputy Headmistress left the Headmaster to his food. Minutes passed in silence until a low voice spoke.

"Headmaster, forgive me for my rudeness but seeing as the position for Defense Against the Dark Arts is open again I'd like to apply for the position."

Sighing the Headmaster replied, "I am very sorry Severus, my boy, but I found an adequate teacher for the job. A shame really, James was quite the skilled Auror."

Grumbling to himself angrily about being beaten by a Potter even in death, Professor Snape left the hall in a flurry of midnight robes. Dumbledore, slightly irritated by the interruptions, rose form his place at the teacher's table, bid his fellow colleagues adieu, and left for the privacy only his office could provide.

"Berty Bott's Every Flavor Beans," said Dumbledore as the stone gargoyle guarding his office animated and moved aside, revealing a spiral staircase.

Ascending the stairs and locking the door behind him, Dumbledore absently looked around his place of work. The now risen sun opened the floodgates of fresh sunrays, streaming through the large window, the light bounced and reflected off of the many little silver trinkets he had strewn across his desk. The natural beams refracted when they hit the clear but slightly cloudy remembrall, sitting atop his bookshelf opposite the window. As Dumbledore's gaze finally set on a bird perched happily on a brass bar. It was peacefully looking out into the wilderness, appreciating the newness of the day. The light set it's gold and red plumes ablaze, a slight aura of heat and power radiated form the gentle phoenix. With a soft note of greeting that never failed to warm the Headmaster's heart the majestic bird spread its wings and took flight into the crisp September day.

"Happy hunting Fawks!" exclaimed the Headmaster before turning his thoughts to a more critical matter. Where was Harry Potter?

He'd left specific instructions at the Dursley's that the boy was to be kept at the very least alive. He didn't even care what the living conditions were so long as Voldemort didn't suspect his existence. He'd promised that he'd stay out of the Dursley's affairs until Harry's eleventh birthday when he planned on telling the boy of wizardry. His original plan called for Harry to be so shocked about the prospect of magic, and so broken down from his living with the Dursley's, that he could easily mold the lad into the tool he needed to end this war for good.

Now, however, that wasn't the case for not even two months had gone by and those stupid, good for nothing muggles had lost his only chance at true fame and glory, nay immortality.

Thoughts as to the recapture of the little runt were running through his head at a marathon pace. How could they have lost the child? He'd promised a large sum of money for the boy's survival, at the very least up until his eleventh birthday. He'd even appointed Arabella Figg to watch the house and offer to take the child for a time should their nerves wear thin. Albus found no logical reason behind the disappearance.

It was then that another thought snaked its way into the ancient mind. Perhaps the Dursleys hadn't rid themselves of the boy; perhaps the boy was taken from the Dursleys without their knowledge. Dumbledore knew he'd be taking a risk but he had to be certain; he'd promised the Dursley's he wouldn't interfere with their lives until Harry received his letter, but this time he would have to make an exception.

Deciding to wait until the Vernon fellow had gone to work, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry deemed another obstacle overcome, and set down to complete ever replenishing paperwork.

The household of 4 Privet Drive was in uproar. The little village of Surrey was never known to harbor much crime. Many citizens even went so far as to leave their doors unlocked during the darker hours. After all, who would steal form them; they were rich. This veil of security was shattered for the Dursley household, as Vernon and Petunia Dursley woke to find most of their valuables missing.

"All of it, gone!" exclaimed a furious Vernon as he tore the master bedroom apart, searching for the many hundred of pounds he'd just lost.

"At least our Dudders is safe," said Petunia softly, relieved that her child was sleeping soundly.

"I'm reporting this, they may be able to catch the bloody nuisance."

"Of course Vernon," cooed his wife for lack of response.

Petunia and Vernon then made a thorough search of their house. Searching the kitchen, they found they were several bottles of fine wine poorer. The sitting room was missing the crystal vases they'd received as wedding presents. Dudley's nursery was missing many expensive toys; the elder Dursleys made a mental note to replace them. Dudley's second room was untouched must to Petunia's relief.

"At least my Dudders will still have most his toys. A growing boy needs to have fun."

As an afterthought, Vernon checked the cupboard, a very expensive investment was in there and he wasn't too keen on finding it missing. Wrenching open the door he found, to his silent horror, the little demon was missing. The letter the old coot had sent him promised a large sum of gold for the boy's upbringing and to say Vernon was interested in that proposition was an understatement.

"Petunia! Your freak sister's son is gone!"

Petunia rushed down the stairs after tending to her child. "What? Heavens no! Do you think the other freaks will come for us?"

"Now, now, Petunia you read the letter that Headmaster of theirs wrote didn't you? He specifically said he wouldn't intervene. I suppose it's no big loss, I never trusted their sort to do well on their part of the bargain anyhow."

Shrugging, Petunia Dursley set to work on breakfast. Opening the fridge to retrieve the necessary ingredients for their meal, she found much of the fridge had been ransacked.

"Heavens is there nothing this hoodlum didn't steal?" questioned Petunia rhetorically, as she fumed over the lack of food in her fridge.

Sitting at the table and reading the morning paper Vernon replied, "What boggles me is the fact that someone actually wanted to steal the little freak. Perhaps he wasn't looking, and stole him by accident; probably threw the little runt into a dumpster by now."

"Hopefully," agreed Petunia, starting up the pan and preparing the few bacon strips that survived the raid.

Verbal silence had reigned over the small kitchen, only the scratching of paper against paper and the mouth watering crackle of oil burning meat could be heard. Finally Petunia shoveled the contents of the frying pan onto two plates, serving one to her husband, the other for herself.

"At least we won't have to tend to the little slug," sitting down, she continued. "We can concentrate on our Dudders, the freak would only become jealous of our boy and try to do some sort of witchcraft on him."

Vernon only nodded as he ate at lightning speed, inhaling the food. Finally finishing, Vernon went to the sitting room, followed closely by Petunia.

"I'll report this theft on my way to work, I'm sure the police have the miscreant by now," said Vernon as he grabbed his car keys from the coffee table and threw on his jacket.

"Very well dear, I'll keep Dudley safe until you return."

Kissing him on the cheek, Petunia Dursley watched her husband go off into his daily commute with a mixture of anxiety and relief.

It was around noon when Albus Dumbledore found himself strolling down Privet Drive. He took his time reaching number 4, admiring the myriad of colors from the various flower beds, approving of the well kept grass, fresh and watered by its caretakers. The weather mirrored his mood, slightly cloudy but overall sunny. He was sure he'd find little Harry, he was probably just hiding under a sink cabinet or something.

Reaching the house, he noticed Vernon had gone to work; this would make his job slightly easier for the woman was less fearful of magic. Knocking politely, he waited; seconds later a woman with an abnormally long neck and reddish brown hair peed out from a crack in the doorway, one blue eye furrowed in accusation.

"You!" she exclaimed. "We don't want your kind tarnishing our house. Leave immediately!"

Sighing, Dumbledore though this wasn't going to be as easy as he'd first thought. "Petunia, may I step inside? It is most urgent that I speak with you."

"The little devil is gone if that's what you're here for, stolen, by a thief no less."

"Perhaps if you'd be so kind as to allow me entrance to your quaint home we could discuss this further?"

There was a pause of contemplation on Petunia's part before she finally allowed the wizard entrance into her home. Quickly looking about the street for spying neighbors, she closed the door. Dumbledore had already made himself home in her sitting room, lounging on Vernon's easy chair.

"Make this quick, I want nothing more to do with your filth," spat Petunia, not bothering to offer tea. She made her way to an opposite couch and sat down with a huff.

Conjuring hot tea and two cups, Dumbledore said, "Petunia, you said Harry had been kidnapped. Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. We searched the whole house for the little runt. More trouble then he's worth I say. What's so special about the maggot anyway, my sister wasn't all too extraordinary even by your standards."

"I'm afraid that's a long and complicated story, one I will be happy to entertain at another time. Now, however, it is most crucial that we find him. May I look about the house? Perhaps there are clues laying about."

"No funny business, do you understand me? My Dudders is sleeping right now and if you so much as disturb a hair on his head so help me I'll finish you, magic stick or no magic stick," threatened Petunia.

"I would not imagine otherwise," replied Dumbledore pleasantly.

With that, Dumbledore took to the cupboard under the stairs. Opening the door, he found the small window, allowing stray tendrils of light to pass through its dusty interior. He noticed the rags the boy had been covered with to muffle his cries of hunger, the smell and dampness that accompanied mold filled his nostrils. Shrugging offhandedly, he found nothing of importance there.

Leaving the room, Dumbledore closed the door. It was then that he found his first clue. He took a moment to examine the door handle, it was brass, with a key hole, very standard. Casting the transparency charm, he noticed further that the insides of the locking mechanism had been tampered with. It was definitely a thief, concluded Dumbledore.

Making his way up the staircase, Dumbledore took extra care in examining the hallway. Cream carpeting covered the floor, as it did the entire house. Footprints had embedded themselves into the fabric from prolonged use. Whatever information he could have drawn from the carpeting had been destroyed this morning when the residents went about their business.

Ignoring Dudley's second bedroom, knowing full well that there was nothing of importance within its confines, Dumbledore moved to examine the master bedroom. He opened and closed many of the drawers, trying to discern what this thief was after in the first place. It seemed to Dumbledore that this thief was well experienced for he left the fake jewelry behind. A clumsy thief would take everything he could and run. Dumbledore noticed, the wallets, coin purses, and change jars were completely empty as well. Opening a spectacle case, finding it empty, Dumbledore concluded he was dealing with a professional.

Finally moving into Dudley's nursery, Dumbledore took in his surroundings for anything out of place. Petunia had taken to tending to her wailing baby, in a rocking chair, next to the crib. Toys lay strewn about, discarded, possibly never to be used again. Dumbledore noticed the far window was slightly ajar. Making his way over to the window, careful not to step on anything on his way, he noticed the window lock had been broken from the inside. That didn't make any sense, how could a thief, who was presumably outside, break a lock that was inside the house.

Turning to Petunia, Dumbledore inquired, "Was this window always broken?"

Looking up form her dear child, she responded, "Dudley had thrown one of his birthday preasents at it, we were looking to fix it but we never got around to it," she paused, "You don't suppose the hoodlum got in through there do you?" at the thought of a thief entering through her precious child's room, she held him closer.

"It is a possibility, I won't deny it."

Seeing that he wouldn't find anything else in the house to tip him off on his baby snatcher, Dumbledore left the house with a frustrated sigh. This was definitely going to be harder then he'd first imagined. After walking to the corner of the street, the Headmaster disapparated from the neighborhood. Overhead, dark, and angry rain clouds had settled in, once again mirroring the professor's mood.

Lightning forked through the dark sky, illuminating the angry costal waters as they crashed against the bank with tremendous fury. Another crack and a large mansion could be seen just above those very waters. Atop a cliff, the dark and foreboding manner stood, on normal circumstances it would remain mostly empty, but tonight, it was alive with shadowy activity. An outsider would arch an eyebrow to the random appearances of cloaked figures mulling about inside the estate when none had been seen actually entering the building. The building itself had seen better days, cracks and overgrowth had dominated much of the exterior. It would seem that the building would give way at any moment, however looks were deceiving; in truth the building was exceptionally well fortified and at least three times younger then its exterior claimed of it.

Severus Snape was a Death Eater, so said the tattoo of a dark skull and snake on his left arm. As such he was to attend every meeting the Dark Lord chose to hold. This being the case, Severus apparated into the main hall of the Dark Lord's base of operations; none knew where it was for none were allowed to leave via the door, but none were foolish enough to question the Dark Lord about his lodgings.

Making certain his hood and cowl was in place, Severus silently made his way though the carpeted hallways. The rugs that ran across every hall were wine colored, the walls were of a rich oak; stained to a perfect dark cherry. There were few paintings, some of ancient dark lords, others of nature; mostly, however, the halls and assorted rooms were decorated with suits of armor. Torches hovered above every room, casting abstract and eerie shadows to dance along the walkways.

Opening the heavy redwood doors leading into the meeting hall, Severus once again secured his mask and stepped into the room. It was important that a member of the inner circle be completely concealed. The younger and lesser ranked members could easily be spies for the ministry, as such the identities of the members of the inner circle were known only to Voldemort himself.

Silent whispers filled the room as he made his way to the front rows, joining his comrades; he knelt down as the others had. Minutes passed, the muffled whispers of inquiry and excitement were heard by all.

"Silence," spoke a weak yet commanding voice.

Instantly the temperature in the room dropped, Severus could see his breath, his slightly panicked breath. The noise in the room had died completely, the old cliché of the pin dropping was most appropriate, thought Severus.

"As you all know, I am weakened. A mere child, barely out of his mother's womb had defeated me as no grown wizard ever had. However, according to the prophecy, I am to be vanquished no? Look unto me my followers; see that I am not defeated; that I am yet in my physical body."

All of them obediently looked up at the dais, the sight that met their eyes would forever wake them from their dreams. There, on the emerald encrusted throne of Voldemort, sat a skeletal being. Once battle hardened and pale albeit healthy skin, now the flesh surrounding his body threatened to expose his bones. Once angry eyes ablaze with blood red fury, now lay in shallow, sunken pools of exhaustion. The once mighty and commanding posture of the mighties dark lord in recent times, was now crippled and slouched. His faithful servant, Wormtail, stood by his master bumbling and fumbling with strengthening droughts and magical reserve restoratives.

"However, worry not, for by the day I grow stronger, and by the day we grow closer to our goal of defeating those muggle loving, mudblood fools." Many cheered at this statement, "Silence! There are still many obstacles for us to pass yet. The prophecy as you all know predicts a child to be born as the seventh month dies." his voice rasped. Wormtail gave him a strengthening drought, it passed through his transparent lips and down, into his stomach. Minutes later he spoke again, "The Potter boy was the one who put me in this condition, and he will be dealt with accordingly. However, I do believe we should show those muggle loving fools that the Dark Lord is not defeated by a long shot."

Severus didn't like where this was going. This generally meant they would target a family, torture, and defile them, then kill them. He had hoped to switch sides once Voldemort had fallen but it seemed the Golden Boy didn't quite accomplish the task.

"There was a possibility of three children who could vanquish me," said Voldemort as if it was a very funny joke. It received chuckles from the braver members of the inner circle. "Longbottom, we dealt with, but no success. It would seem this Potter is the one who effected me the most, for that he is mine, and mine alone. This leaves the Delacour girl, what to do with her?" questioned Voldemort darkly.

"Perhaps we can make a statement out of them my lord," drawled Lucius Malfoy from Snape's right.

"Yes, my lord, we can pay them a little visit. I'm sure they'll appreciate some good company," agreed Belatrix Lestrage, from Snape's left.

"Yes, I do believe it is time for a little unwinding," said the Dark Lord menacingly. "Severus, I will give you the honor of killing the family, you always did enjoy it."

Snape's gut wrenched at the idea. It was going to be a long night for sure. With that the Dark Lord dismissed the assembly, and appointed Severus and Lucius a team of lower ranked Death Eaters to aid in their mission.

Outside, along the coast, no onlooker would be any the wiser that an evil dark lord had survived a backfired killing curse. No onlooker would suspect a torture and murder plot had just been set under way. No onlooker would even notice that the estate had been occupied only moments ago. All the onlooker would see was the endless torrent of rain, thunder, and lightning; effectively illuminating the angry tides crashing against the bank.

"It wasn't supposed to rain today," said a handsome young Frenchmen as he peeled back the silk curtains from his living room window. The downpour beyond the walls obstructed his vision, anything beyond his living space was a hazy specter of its original self.

"Oh Jock come away from that window and come sit by the fire," pleaded the heavenly voice of his wife. "There's someone who wants to see you."

Smiling to himself, Jock Delacour strode from the window to his wife, daughter, and a warm fire. Sitting down in front of the red and orange flames, Jock felt content; he had a beautiful wife, a full blooded veela for a daughter, and a prominent position in the government of his mother country. What more could he ask for?

Looking to his daughter, in her mother's arms, Jock noticed her radiant blue eyes held a soft glow to them, "Is that supposed to happen Isabelle?" he asked softly so as to not disturb his calm child.

"It's fine, Jock. It happened with me and I'm only half. When her eyes glow like that she's either feeling great amounts of emotion be it happy, sad, or angry. If she were angry we'd have quite a bit of warning."

Jock shuddered slightly. He had heard stories from friends of Isabelle's; he had heard the devastation a full blooded angry veela could cause, and it wasn't pretty.

"Let's just hope we don't have to find out soon eh?" said Jock, nervously chuckling.

Isabelle flashed him a thousand watt smile only a veela could accomplish. Her silver locks burned gold in the firelight. Her own eyes held a faint blue glow; she was feeling love; love for her child and love for her caring husband. It came as a pleasant surprise to her when he, a muggle, took to the wizarding world so well; especially her being part veela.

Staring into the fire, Jock's forest green eyes, mulled over a particularly troubling past event. "I'm sorry about what I said to your sister, I was out of line," he said suddenly.

Shaking her magnificent head she replied, "No, no, Jock she is a Fence, she expected worse let me tell you."

"I should have known better then to burst out in front of the crowd. I should have known the art pieces were obtained by less then reputable means. I've probably ruined her entire business in France."

"Don't' worry, she has other places to sell her products," assured Isabelle as she gently rocked a sleeping Fleur.

"Where did she get such items? I've only seen many of those in museums. Surely she didn't go about and steal them all did she? It would take a master thief to accomplish a job like that."

"You hit it on the nose Jock, you always were the perceptive one. She was acquaintances with the Master Thief himself. She only ever knew his first name, as all of his contacts do, Garrett I think it is… yes. He'd robbed a very wealthy and boastful museum over in London and needed to pass off the goods to an art dealer. Lo and behold my sister was there to ease his burden and exchange good money for his merchandise. It's a good thing he showed up when he did too, else Dolia would have been out of work and out of money."

Jock listened silently as she recalled her sister's dark story.

"I knew she had a thing for him," said Isabelle offhandedly, "Of course she was always bitter to him, afraid of rejection. It didn't help matters that he was a rouge, an adventurer, and he couldn't be tied down with commitment. She never showed it but she was devastated after he left town. No one knows where he went. Some even go as far as saying he's dead or he never existed, just a story to rile up the noblemen."

Pulling a hand through his reddish brown locks, Jock replied, "She could write a book about her life you know?"

Smiling, Isabelle said, "Can't we all?"

Time seemed to pass slowly for the small family; the rhythmic pitter patter of rain making contact with the world, the soft crackling of the merry fire, the warm feelings in the room. Nothing could break the mood that had settled in for the Delacours.

After a half an hour of undisturbed bliss, Jock checked his watch and saw it was nearly midnight. "We'd better get some sleep, I've got a meeting tomorrow and Dolia's coming over. Do say I'm sorry while I'm gone will you?"

Scooping up her daughter, "Of course I will. I'm sure little Fleur will love to see Auntie Dolia. Wouldn't you my little sweet?" said Isabelle touching her nose to her infant's with affection. Fleur cried out in glee at the small but meaningful contact.

"I love her laugh," said Jock, gazing at his only daughter, "She'll be a real heartbreaker when she grows up won't she?"

"That she will, and there won't be a thing anyone can do about it either, else she'll just incinerate whatever stands in her way," said Isabelle as the three made their way up the spiral staircase of the Delacour chateau.

Entering a small nursery, Jock turned on the lights as Isabelle put her little one to sleep. The room was a moderate size for a nursery. Light blue dominated the walls, a cream lining finished off the corners of each wall. A comfortable and spacious crib lay in the center, a small menagerie of unicorns and elephants spun merrily over Fleur's head.

Silently closing the door, after making sure everything was safe and sound, Jock and Isabelle made their way to their own bedroom. A large room with a massive fourposter bed, forest green with gold trimmings lined the walls. Two dark mahogany dressers stood on either side of the room. Two nightstands with identical crystal lamps finished the room off nicely.

As they lay in bed, encased in the other's arms, both were thinking the same thought.

"I want another one," their voices melded in unison.

Jock's forest green eyes stared into the brightly lit azure eyes of the most beautiful creature to ever grace the planet. Bending down for a passionate kiss, Isabelle saved him the trouble and met him half way. She whimpered in pleasure as their tongues danced with one another.

Just as they were preparing for a dance of their own kind, a loud sound, almost like that of an explosion, erupted throughout the house. Jock and Isabelle tore away from one another in fright and shock. Jock, throwing himself into action rushed over to his dresser and produced a silenced six shooter that had been handed down to him from his father and his before him. The silver metal glinted dangerously in the moonlight. Likewise, Isabelle took her wand from her night stand and prepared herself for battle. Nodding to each other, the husband and wife of the Delacour family silently crept out into the upper hallway.

Once to the staircase they could hear muffled voices from what seemed to be the kitchen area, directly below them.

"This is the place, don't screw this up Snape," said a sinister drawl.

"I don't intend to, Lucius, now kindly get out of the way so I may enter," replied a cold voice.

Muffled footsteps, then Snape said, "You three check the sitting room, and the ballroom, you three, the dining room, and the entrance hall; movie it!"

"I'll take the three in the dining room, you go for the ones in the sitting room," said Jock, "And be careful will you? I'm not looking to become a widower too soon."

Smiling slightly at her husband's humor at such a time Isabelle replied, "The same goes for you too John Wayne." American movies would be the death of them both.

Making their way, silently, down the spiral staircase, they separated and began the hunt for their respective prey.

Jock followed the four figures that stumbled and crashed their way through to the dining room. It was a large room so he wasn't worried about cover. The gentlemen in question however, Jock had heard about from Isabelle. They were an evil of the worst kind, capable of endless torture without even the slightest drop of remorse. Jock felt no relectance when it came to pulling the trigger on them; however he knew he had to wait until they were a safe distance from Isabelle so neither Death Eater camp could hear the other scream.

Finally, the Death Eater squad plus a greasy haired man entered the dining room. The instant the last hooded person was through the threshold, the main doors slammed shut behind them and locked.

"By god which one of you did that!" exclaimed an unnamed Death Eater.

"None of us, why would we want to close ourselves in. Perhaps it's a charm, the woman is a witch after all," said the greasy haired one.

"Alright, search the area we have company," said another Death Eater, presumably in control of the situation.

The instant one took a step two bright flashes of light were accompanied by a loud crack, two bodies fell and silence reigned over the dining hall.

"Bloody hell!" screamed the last of the Death Eater group, "What the hell was that Snape?"

The one known as Snape told the man to shut up. He sent his keen eyes over the dark room, a large wood table stretched from one end of the room to the other. The chandeliers were extinguished, Snape sneered as he cast a weak incendio charm, instantly lighting the room, and throwing his stalker into plain sight.

"Uh oh," whispered Jock, as he huddled down under a high backed chair. Thank Isabelle for picking these insanely showy chairs, thought Jock as he hoped the greasy haired one wouldn't find him.

"come out come out wherever you are Frenchmen. I'm not afraid of your little weapon," taunted Snape as he slowly make his way around the room, checking every crevice for the attacker.

Isabelle was having slightly better luck. After separating from her beloved, she worked herself into a silent rage, activating the veela blood within her. Her eyes were lit with cold fury, her hands burned with a passionate hate. She stalked her prey with the animal instinct that came with being part creature.

As her enemies made their way into the sitting room, which only an hour ago, held such happy memories, Isabelle struck. First she let loose a large fireball, momentarily illuminating the cozy room, hitting a robed figure square in the back of the head. He was set ablaze instantly. Taking the momentary confusion to her advantage she set off a flurry of slicing and bone crushing hexes toward the remaining enemies.

"Gah, it's an ambush!" yelled a sinister looking man with silvery hair similar to her own.

"No shit, sir?" responded the last remaining Death Eater who had taken cover behind an overstuffed couch. "Wilson's sliced up, and Hendrix is smoldering over there. What kind of an operation was this?"

The half veela was in no mood to allow them to talk, she wanted them out of her territory, dead or alive. Using a levitating charm the veela took the couch and flung it toward the silver haired man, who dodged it only just in time. Next she threw a slew of fireballs and blasting hexes toward the little cowering human. He was dead before the fifth blasting hex shattered his spine.

This left only the veela and the silver haired man.

"Very impressive, I must admit it takes quite a bit of guts to kill in cold blood," taunted the man.

"Why are you in my home Death Eater!" screeched the half veela feeling the full effects of her rage.

"To set an example."

With that the man switched into action, throwing curse after soundless curse toward Isabelle, who could only barely manage avoiding permanent damage. Needing an offensive and fast, the veela threw fireball after fireball at the offending human. He rolled dodged, and leapt over many, but one well timed shot hit him square in the face.

The heat was intense, Lucius Malfoy could not remember another time where he'd felt his skin and eyes literally liquefying. He screamed, he screamed as he never did during his endless torture sessions with the Dark Lord; above all he screamed for mercy, none was given.

The veela continued to pummel the man with slicing and cutting hexes, she had no intention of killing this one, no she wanted to make an example just as he was vying to make one of her.

Snape will have to end this, thought Malfoy, surprised he could even think above all the pain he was in. That thought in mind, the pureblood disapparated from the manner.

Jock loaded three bullets into his gun, a full barrel, he knew he'd need it. Rising from his hiding place, he fired two shots. The black robed man, dodged and leapt with ease.

"There you are!" he screamed. "Sectumsempra!" A jet of green light shot from the end of his wand. Jock, not wanting to find out what that particular spell did, ducked just in time.

"That the best you have Englishman?" taunted Jock as he blindly fired two shots in the general direction of the offending figure. A loud scream could be heard, Jock smiled, he'd hit is target. Sensing this was the leverage he needed he quickly loaded three more bullets into the chamber and ran out from behind the high backed chair. Shooting at the man with anger and hatred for the acts he was sure the other had committed, he had lost sense of the danger that was right in front of him. It was all too late for dodging when a blast of green light pierced through his skin.

It was at that time the doors flew open to reveal the battle ravaged beauty that was Isabelle Delacour. Time seemed to freeze for her as she saw the jet of infamous green light soar toward her gung ho husband. It made contact and instantly he was dead.

"No!" screamed the woman as her life shattered around her.

Turning from the corpse, Snape shot several cutting hexes at her, all of them making contact, none registering in her pain receptors, they were overloaded as it was.

"Jock, Jock, please speak to me!" she screamed as she collapsed by her beloved, once full of so much life.

"My, my how touching," drawled Snape.

Turning to the attacker who killed her husband, her eyes burned with a fury unmatched. She could feel her nails becoming strong claws, her humanity slipping from it's weak grasp, she could smell his blood, sense his fear. She would not rest until the man in front of her felt pain beyond any imaginable.

The creature that had become of Isabelle Delacour launched herself at Snape, he had no time to react at the impossible speed she was traveling. In no time his face was lined with red scratch marks, his robes shredded and torn, he could feel several bones snaping and breaking; bending and straining in directions they weren't supposed to go. He was in hell and he knew he wasn't going to leave this place with al his parts, if at all.

There was a pause in the mauling as Isabelle's human side struggled to maintain control, it was all Snape needed.

"Avarda Kadavra!"

It was done. The Delacours were dead, he was alive… sort of, his position among the Death Eaters was secure, on the same token his spy work for Dumbledore was still secure. Severus Snape cast a high level burning charm and watched as the beautiful chateau was set ablaze. He knew there was a full blooded veela child somewhere in the upper floors, but Snape decided there was enough death on his hands. With any luck it would die in the fire. That thought in mind Snape disapparated to St. Mungo's, he had quite a few injuries to mend.

It would be twenty minutes later when the French Aurors littered the grounds.

"Death Eaters?" one asked as he knocked down the front door, black smoke billowing from the opening.

"Who else would do something like this? The Delacours were straight up people, nothing wrong with 'em, no corruption, no nothing. Who better then the Death Eaters to kill for absolutely no reason?" responded his friend, shooting fanning spells to divert the smoke.

"You take the top, I'll take the bottom."

"You got it Claude."

The one known as Claude avoided rubble, and shot water jets all around the bottom floor. The fire had spread throughout the entire house, it'd be a miracle if anyone survived. Bursting into the dining area, he noticed the fire was far angrier here then anywhere else, it was most likely where it had started. Putting it out with roughly seven water blasts, he called in reinforcements. Hearing his fellow aurors sweep the lower and upper floors, trying to contain the fire, Claude saw the devastation left behind from the battle.

Jock and Isabelle Delacour were laying not five feet from one another, one killed by killing curse, the other by a particularly nasty severing hex and a killing curse respectively. Claude noticed Isabelle's hands had turned into nasty claws, covered in foreign blood. In France all part or full veela, vampire, or werewolf had to register with the ministry. This would help them deal with the needs of said creatures and allow proper protection and justice should the need arise.

He then moved to another part of the once majestic dining room, he saw three dead hooded figures.

"Death Eaters," breathed Claude. Seeing three bullet holes in each, he knew they went through immense pain before dieing. "You sure gave 'em hell Jock. Best damn muggle I ever met."

"We found something!" screamed his friend, Pierre, whom he'd sent up to check the second floor. "It's alive! Thank heavens!"

Throwing all caution to the wind, Claude dashed out the destroyed doorway, through the scorched hall, up the creaking spiral staircase, and through a small nursery, and to the sound of his friend. The instant he caught his breath he noticed right away, it was untouched by the flames that had once dominated the house.

"How?" wheezed Claude.

"I'm as stumped as you are Claude, but look! She's alive and unharmed! A full blooded veela," said Pierre, overjoyed at finding such a beautiful piece of life among such death.

Having caught his breath, Claude took command, "Take her outside and inform any living relatives, if none exist… I'll think of something."

"Yes sir!" dashing out of the house with the little girl, now quietly crying, sensing danger and unease, Pierre set off to the ministry.

"Damn you Voldemort, you will pay for this." seethed Claude, the full weight of the disaster setting in at last.

--------------

AN: The story is now set up, now I'll explore the future. Keep in mind, Lucius and Snape will not be without their scars from this battle. Next chapter will be up whenever. Thanks again for reading and giving this unorthodox combination of genres, ships, and crossovers a chance.


	4. Thieving 101

**AN: Alright, next chapter for those still interested. Things start to kick off for Harry.**

**AN2: Fixed some spelling errors in the previous chapter, do tell me if I'm screwing up names and such as I've not read the books in quite a while. Also, if it's no trouble could someone give me a rough timeline of the events of Philosopher's Stone. I don't have the book handy and I want to stay with mostly cannon events.**

**Thieving 101 and the New Neighbors **

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"Bafford, I must say, this is quite a fine piece of treasure. Where did you say you found it?" questioned an aristocratic voice.

"It's quite an interesting tale really, Elizabeth. I was vacationing in the Fire Isles and, whist hiking with my party my eye caught this fine gem nestled in between a crack. I bent down and simply plucked it up from its resting place. I do consider myself quite lucky," responded Bafford smugly.

The object in question was a transparent, blood red jewel. Perfectly spherical in shape, five inches in diameter, it was appraised at quite a hefty price.

"I had this room specifically built for it, you know. I call it the Fire Opal, what do you think Lady Elizabeth?" asked an excited Bafford, gesturing wildly around the room.

The room itself was exceptionally large for the purpose of holding an item so small, however, its beauty was exceptional in and of itself. The Fire Opal stood atop a white marble pedestal, directly above which an unbroken beam of light cascaded down on the jewel. Four purple runners blossomed from four perpendicular ends of the centerpiece, one leading to the entrance, the others leading to suits of armor. The remaining flooring was of checkered black and white marble. The walls, also of white marble, arched to a dome, leading to the small window in the center. Small intricate carvings and statuettes lined the dome, calling for a very eye pleasing experience.

Dark hair held in an tight bun, Lady Elizabeth replied, "It is an exceptional showroom, Bafford. It must have cost you a fortune."

"Well, after a few choice words, I dare say not at all. Of course the jewel is protected by some of the strongest magical wards known, so I'm not worried."

"Hm, you seemed to have learned from the scepter incident eh?"

Bafford fidgeted nervously at the memory of loosing his prized scepter.

For a moment longer, they both admired the stone, the gentle stream of light entered the stone and bended, and bounced its way out the other end, producing a red shadow along the stone's cradle.

"Well, I don't know about you but I'm positively famished," said Elizabeth.

Clapping his hands, Bafford responded, "Ah, lunch then, my house elves will only be too pleased to serve us. Come, this way."

The two left the room, unaware of two observers making their way out of the premises themselves.

Traveling along rooftops, two cloaked figures headed in the general direction of their hideaway. Sprinting across buildings, bounding over ventilation units, nimbly walking on gutter lines; the two made quick progress of their travels, for on the Thief's Highway, there was no traffic.

Ground dwellers were unable to identify the Roof Walkers as they swiftly made their way back to their base of operations. If someone were looking they'd merely assume it was the odd phenomenon that had owls flying about in daylight, nothing more. None saw as the two made a stop at a fire escape, nor did anyone see the smaller of the two figures pick the lock and enter the building.

Making their way though a small kitchen area, the two entered a reasonably well furnished living area. The living area was a cozy enough place; a small rug in the center, atop which was a glass coffee table, and across which was a lit fireplace, casting a welcoming glow along the far wall, near which was a single sofa. The two cloaked figures stopped at the coffee table, a dirty piece of parchment held their attention.

"Ok, we've got a change of plans, look here," said the taller one, in his usual low growl of a voice.

The smaller one peered over the parchment; it was a map of the estate they'd just gone to scout out. His mentor had just added a medium sized circle to the western wing of the building, representing the showroom of the red jewel.

"The jewel is in this area; Perry said it'd be on the other side. Lucky for us ol' Bafford was in a bragging mood, he always talks loud when he's boasting about his latest treasures."

The younger one chuckled as he continued to pour over the map.

"So, you'll have to go in through the other back entrance, that's over… here," said the older man, pointing to a small box symbolizing an open, unguarded entrance.

The smaller one nodded in understanding, "Where will you be?" he asked curiously.

"I'll be in the other wing. The way I see it, two heads are always better then one, why not loot the place dry while we're there?"

"Sounds like a plan to me, Garrett."

The older one, Garrett, chuckled at his protégé; he had come far in such a short time.

"Ok Harry, onto our training for today, we'll review the map later."

Moving away from their project, Garrett led Harry back into the kitchen, taking a left, going through their sleeping area, and another left, leading them to the door to their training room.

It wasn't much but it served its purpose. The flooring was most peculiar as it was not of any one type, some areas would be dedicated to wood, others to marble, another to metal, and finally a small carpet dominated the final area. The lighting fixtures were mostly overhanging torches, some light bulbs were littered throughout and could only be turned on or off through a switch at either end of the room. Along the far wall stood a target board for arrows, knives, and other projectile weapons or tools. On the wall to their right stood a rack of tools, from the infamous blackjack, to quivers of various elemental arrows. Along the parallel wall stood training dummies, they were mostly used to find and practice knockout points.

"Ok, what do we work on today? You're pretty good with the pressure points, you're good with the mines and the bombs," Garrett trailed off as he pondered his next lesson. "How about we start you on the blackjack, it'll be slow going from here cause you're just a kid but you've gotta start somewhere."

Excited, Harry nodded. He'd always wanted to take a good swing with the infamous club ever since he'd joined Garrett on his escapades two years prior. Moving over to the tool rack, he grabbed one of the two solid stone weapons and moved over to a training mannequin. Garrett moved over to the side and flipped a switch, an overhead monitor blinked to life, showing life signs not unlike those found at a hospital.

"Ok, if you'll look up here you've got your usual life signs. Now an ideal hit would have them drop down to around this amber level," Garrett pointed to the life signs, which were all at green, then he moved his finger down to the area where it should be. "That'll knock the victim out at the very least a good five to six hours regardless."

Harry nodded, it made sense, hit too light and the person may only be really irritated, not too hard and risk killing the guy, something any professional thief never delved into.

"Ok, let me show you what an ideal swing would look like," Garrett took the mallet from Harry and positioned himself right behind the practice dummy. He raised his weapon above his head, paused for a moment, then pulled back slightly more for a stronger hit, and swung downwards. The silent swoosh of an object flying through the air was cut off as it switched to that of stone making contact with rubber, or in a proper case, flesh.

The life signs, as Garrett explained had reached the lower end of the amber zone. Garrett looked on in approval.

"That's how it's done," said Garrett smugly as he handed the weapon back to his charge.

Harry positioned himself as Garrett did and readied himself to strike. The Blackjack was far heavier then it looked, ten pounds of solid stone were not easy to swing around as leisurely as Garrett did.

Reaching back to strike, Harry miscalculated his pull back and nearly lost his footing, steadying himself, he swung. A satisfying whoosh of air accompanied the mighty weapon as it came crashing down on the head of his imaginary enemy. The resulting thud made Harry proud of his accomplishment. It reminded him of the last time he had tried to use the Blackjack, he missed his mark entirely, Garrett didn't let him live it down for weeks.

"Very good, I'm impressed," said Garrett, looking at the readout on the screen.

Harry too looked to the screen to see his strike had landed the imaginary enemy into the upper amber zone. Harry concluded it wasn't bad for his first real try.

"That should get you a good thirty minutes to a few hours to yourself."

Garrett then launched into the theory behind the Blackjack: where to hit and where not to, which pressure points would work and which ones would just result in broken bones and really angry guards.

They continued working with the Blackjack for a few more hours, Harry insisted on switching his arms for two reasons; one because he got tired of using any one for a prolonged period of time, and two so he could become proficient with both hands should he lose a hand or something. Garrett chuckled at that remark.

Progress wise, Harry stayed near the upper amber area of the life sign chart, but he swore that as time went on he had progressed a few millimeters. It'd have to do for now, plus what kind of a hurry was he in? That was one of the things he enjoyed about the life of a thief, there were so few restrictions and guidelines one had to follow; merely don't get caught and pay the rent on time, and on many occasions don't get caught stealing back the rent.

"Alright, that should do for today," said Garrett, silently observing his pupil progress ever so slightly.

"What's next," asked Harry, slightly winded from the practice.

"You'll like this, next we're going to work on arrow making. You can always go down to Knockturn Ally and buy yourself some arrows, but they're nearly always over priced, and with things as they are with that Voldemort freak running about; people don't keep much of their valuables in the house. Whatever valuables they do keep are either too insignificant to really count for much or so expencive they've got heavy magical wards around them."

Harry knew the story about Voldemort and himself, he knew he'd nearly vanquished him from the world when he was one. He knew he was famous around all of Europe for his deed. He also knew it was a bunch of bull crap; to revere someone for something they didn't even willingly do, not that he wouldn't have done it but it was the principle of the thing. He did nothing yet he was showered with glory, while the real heroes were out there fighting the good fight. He didn't even like head on confrontations for Pete's sake and they hail him their savior.

"Sweet, which one are we gonna do today: Broadhead or rope?" Harry was excited about making rope arrows; they were always fun to see in action afterwards.

"Both. I figure you've had experience making them so why not test you… see how far you've come."

With that, they moved to the center of the room. It was an unspoken rule that whenever they were in the training room they would move silently, no matter what surface they were on. It just so happened that they were both on marble, therefore, moving at a snail's pace.

In the center there were five objects, a bucket of water, an empty glass jar, a pot of grass, logs, and a collection of sturdy rope, wood, and arrowheads.

Harry saw the extra items and asked, "What's all this other stuff for?"

"Call it a hunch. We'll start with regular broadheads as they're the easiest to make," said Garrett, absently inspecting a wooden shaft that would later become the body of an arrow.

Harry nodded and wordlessly set to work, picking up a long, well carved shaft of wood; he examined it with expert precision before setting off to step two. Next, he picked up one of the many arrowheads he'd made the week previous; all were sharp, none were flawed. He screwed it onto the bare end of the wood, making sure it was tight and snug. Finally, he chose one of the many feathered nocks he'd also made many days prior; screwing that one onto the other end, Harry took some time to admire his handy work. He truly liked making arrows, he always swelled with pride whenever Garrett would successfully use one of his homemade arrows.

"Very good, make a few more, then we'll move onto something else," said Garrett, silently observing his protégé, confident that one day Harry would surpass even himself.

After making a solid thirty, they moved on to crystal making. The elemental crystals replaced the arrowheads of conventional boadheads and could be attached easily enough.

"Are you sure I'll be able to do this, I haven't got a wand yet," said Harry, wearily glancing at the water bucket.

Garrett, began pacing back and forth, he always did this when he was excited about one thing or another, "I've got a theory. Remember what you did last time we went on a heist?"

Harry screwed his brows in concentration, trying to remember what he'd done that got Garrett so excited. Then it hit him; but what did that have to do with anything, it was just pure luck that it happened anyway, right? Just a bout of accidental magic he was sure.

"Well what does that have to do with making arrows?" asked Harry, bringing himself out of his musings.

"I've got a hunch," began Garrett, clearly excited now, "At Ramirez's, when you went to take the golden phoenix, you said you saw a white aura around it right?"

"Yeah," Harry drawled slowly, curious as to where the Master Thief was heading with all of this.

"Then, your lockpicks flew into your hands without your even knowing, correct?"

"Spot on. What's any of this go to do with-"

Garrett interrupted him, "I'm getting there. Anyway, you then tried to pick the white stuff as if it were any other lock?" receiving no answer, he assumed it was a yes. "Then, the ward came apart and you just took the statue."

"Yeah but-"

Silencing him with a wave of his hand, Garrett spoke, "I think you can see wards in addition to Keepers and myself. I think, when you had your lockpicks out, you somehow channeled your magical power into the ward, willing it to open for you. You merely used the lockpicks as a sort of focus, something familiar to help you along."

Harry took this information in. It made some odd sort of sense; there was absolutely no reason why none of it was true. Garrett was unable to confirm any of it because he was only a squib, but it wouldn't hurt to humor him a while. Garrett was never known for false hunches.

"So, what do you want me to do?" asked Harry, slightly lost.

Pausing to think for a moment, Garret said, "I want you to try and will your magic into the bucket of water. Try to envision the water crystal already sitting inside. I want to see of this will work," he trailed off as he switched back into thinking mode.

Shrugging, Harry prepared to try what his superior asked. He dunked his hand into the cool water, closing his eyes he concentrated. He pushed the warm ball of magic from his stomach, into his submerged hand, he concentrated on the image of water crystals forming off the tips of his fingers. He tried and tried, and was soon repaid for his efforts, he felt something akin to ice forming on the tips of his fingers, he could feel the beads of sweat on his brow due to all the concentration and magic use; he didn't know how much longer he could hold out, or how long he'd have to in the first place.

After what seemed like hours of blistering cold, Garrett softly spoke, "Stop, that's good enough."

Gasping for breath, Harry broke his thread of concentration. Looking to the bucket, he noticed the once full bucket was now dry. In its stead lay five perfectly formed water crystals. He examined his hand, it was as if he'd never had it underwater in the first place, he was fine.

"Well, I guess your theory works," said Harry, slightly out of breath.

Picking up one of the crystals and effortlessly screwing it into a wooden shaft, Garrett, notched the arrow into his trusty bow and aimed for a blazing torch. Firing, the arrow made a faint whistle as it cut through the air, finally smashing into the fiery stub, effectively extinguishing the flame in a splash of cool water.

"I'd say my theory worked alright," said Garrett, truly pleased with the new developments. Looking to his protégé for any signs of damage Garrett spoke, "We should lay off making too many elemental arrows until you get your wand. If you exhaust your magical reserve now you may drain your magic permanently. Until then, let's see how you do with the others and we'll call it quits as far as elemental crystals go."

With that they proceeded onto the other arrows. The rope arrow was nearly the same as the broadhead, provided that Harry attach a cylinder of rope around the body. Out of all elemental arrowheads the gas arrow was the easiest to manipulate, concentrating for only seconds, Harry had five perfect knockout arrows ready to go. It struck him odd that the arrows were made of regular oxygen yet were lethal once formed. Garrett concluded that Harry's magic was changing the gas inside the jar as the arrows formed. Next, the moss arrows, all Harry had to do was hover his hand over the mass of green and he had five more moss arrows then he did the day before. The fire arrow was hardest second to water, hovering his hand over the flame, Harry concentrated and willed for a good five minutes only to receive a single arrow in return. It'd have to do, thought Harry as he inspected the perfect orange gem; after all, they were the strongest lethal arrows around.

"Well done for today Harry. Let's head back out, we'll continue with your studies."

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he followed the thief back into the living area. They'd begun studies into Occulemcy and Legilimency, the study of both guarding against and breaking into the mind respectively. Garrett stressed that as Harry would one day be out in unguarded territory, learning these two crucial skills would only work to his benefit; it would help organize his mind, keep him calm in frustrating situations, and above all, keep out pesky intruders.

Moving the coffee table away from the center, towards the couch, Garrett said, "Ok Harry, sit down and practice your meditations."

Taking a deep breath, Harry settled himself on the soft rug. Garrett sat across him, cross legged, also taking deep and slow breaths to calm his own frantic mind.

"That's it, deep breaths, you're doing well. Now, when you feel you're calm, try to concentrate on all of your precious memories, secrets you wish to keep," Harry concentrated as his mentor instructed him in a calm voice. "Once you've done that, try to envision a large fortress, impenetrable in any way shape or form. Try not to have any stray wooden beams anywhere this time eh?" a small chuckle escaped Harry's lips at the joke. "Next, try to get some defenses up; it's not enough that your construction has no entrance. Create your own little army, some archers, maybe even a bunch o' Keeper Enforcers."

Nodding silently, signaling that he was ready for the onslaught, Harry calmly opened his eyes. Garrett then put his natural abilities into action, calculating dark eyes met with sharp emerald. An instant later he was in Harry's mind, his construction looked a lot like Bafford's place; huge, gloating, and absolutely filled with riches. Making his way through Harry's mind much like he did the real world, he snuck his way about the perimeter, searching for any weak spots. Finding none, not even a back door, he settled for rushing in through the front entrance. This, however was not the best plan for the instant he set foot from the shadows, a volley of arrows nearly turned him into swiss cheese. Having no ambition to become a popular sandwich ingredient he put into play his acrobatic abilities to dash, jump, roll, and dodge the endless attack. Finally reaching what he could only assume was the doorway to his protégé's mind, he moved to turn the knob, only to be thrown out of Harry's mind in a blinding flash of white light.

Shaking his head, regaining his bearings, Garrett found himself back in their apartment. "Very good, you should last quite a while in a direct hit. Remember that every Legilimens fights differently; some will go for the aggressive approach, others the sneaky approach, still others will do neither and just brush over your surface thoughts without your being any the wiser. The only defense to this is to be prepared for as many scenarios as possible. Train constantly in your free time."

Harry nodded in understanding, allowing his friend to continue with his lecture.

"Ok, now we'll go into Legilimency. It isn't much harder, only this time you're on the offensive. Once you've made eye contact with your target, concentrate on burrowing into their mind. Once inside, call up any equipment you think you may need to infiltrate their safe houses."

"Here goes nothing," mumbled Harry, mentally preparing for the whooping he would receive via Garrett's mind.

Once again emerald met cobalt, the roles were reversed, in no time Harry found himself in the mind of the Master Thief himself. Harry took a moment to examine the fortress in front of him, there were many traps, obstacles, even jumping platforms for Harry to traverse; leave it to Garrett to put thieving exercises in ever corner of Harry's training. Going in by the front or back wasn't prudent as there were an infinite army of guards ready to attack at any moment.

Setting to work quickly, Harry took to the platforms as they were the quickest and stealthiest route to an unguarded window in the fortress. Leaping from one block to the other with little effort, Harry quickly found himself inside the mind of a master thief. He was weary to actually access any of his memories for the last time he stumbled upon one, it wasn't pretty. Harry then, having accomplished his task of breaking into someone's mind, ventured to pull out, a brief flurry of colors and he was back on the rug.

"Not bad," said Garrett, slightly winded from the successful attack. "That's all for today, let's make sure we've got everything settled for our little excursion tonight and hope for the best."

With that Garrett, pulled himself up from the carpeting and set off for the kitchen, he was famished.

Harry took the sudden vacancy to lay back and reflect on his adventures; to be in the care of a world renowned thief had its ups and downs. Over the years, since as long as he could remember, they'd been hopping from one shady building to the next, always staying one step ahead of the ministry and aurors as a whole. Garrett had explained his situation after the fall of Voldemort; he'd explained that a man known as Dumbledore had taken him to his cousin's house to live out eleven years until he could attend Hogwarts. Garrett also told Harry about his living conditions and the ignorance on Dumbledore's part. He'd be sure to give him a piece of his mind in four short years.

Luck was good to them however, this time around their landlord accepted bribes to keep quiet about their residence for double rent pay. This would keep the ministry off their tails and give Garrett a reason to push Harry in his thieving lessons. Either way Harry couldn't complain, he liked what he did; thieving took a certain amount of finesse, a certain amount of patience, and a bit of backbone for those really tricky items. The freedom it provided was both liberating and challenging, for one never knew how long it would last until he slipped up and faced the law.

With a content sigh, Harry rose from the carpet and made his way to the training room, he needed to take an inventory of their supplies.

Many hours later, when Garrett and Harry were descending the stairs of their shadowy apartment, Harry wondered briefly who their new neighbors would be. Not too long ago the landlord had evicted the occupants of the nearest apartment for missed rent dates. He'd heard the new family would be moving in some time today. He hoped for their sake they weren't loaded.

_Ah nightfall, as good a time as any to take a lucrative opportunity by the horns. My mentor and I will be visiting an old friend of ours, Lord Bafford. He's got a new jewel on display in a room all to itself; according to our updated map it's somewhere on the upper floors of the west wing. There'll be a few party goers celebrating Bafford's glorious new find, I'll have to be sure to avoid them at all costs; no use in getting caught. I'll be entering through a small chute, leading into the cellar area so I'll have to make my way from the bottom up. Garrett will be going through a window in Bafford's library, he'd previously tampered with it so he'd have an assured entrance. Along the way we'll both be looting the place dry, thieving isn't a cheap profession and it doesn't do well for one to waste precious opportunities. Well, the time for talking is over, it's time to begin._

A clear and muggy atmosphere hung over the fated July night in which Lord Bafford's priced Fire Opal was to be stolen from right under his nose.

Harry Potter slinked toward the cellar entrance as planned, utilizing keen senses just in case any guards chose to take a stroll around the gardens. He crept along the grass silently, one foot in front of the other, verdant eyes sweeping left and right, always searching, always on guard. He stopped by a bush, just four meters from his infiltration point, he took the time to check his inventory; being that he wasn't yet as strong as Garrett, he had to improvise a few tools, and substitute some others. This ultimately left him with water, gas, and explosive bombs, a small black dagger for close range lethal take downs, and a vast knowledge of the human body and what nerves to cut off to ensure darkness of the mind. He was as well prepared as he could be.

Just as he was about to begin his mission, a figure emerged from the cellar door. It swayed on its feet unsteadily; it also appeared to be holding a bottle of some sort. It was a drunken guard concluded Harry; a small smirk played across his face. This would be too easy.

"Ah, Taffin' Taffer. Never given' me a promotion; I'll show him," the man slurred his sorrows for all the night dwellers to hear.

Harry quietly dashed around the unsuspecting guard's back and made for the open cellar. Once inside, he slowly closed the door and locked it. It wasn't his fault the guy had no way to get back inside; he shouldn't have been drinking in the first place. Harry surveyed his surroundings, kegs of ales, wines, firewhiskeys, and any other alcoholic beverage under the sun were simmering in the humid dungeon. The orange glow from a torch signaled a way out, Harry followed its path.

Once outside he noticed he was in some sort of large underground maze of wine cellars, food stores, and weapon caches. Checking his map, he released a sigh of relief, it was labeled; Garrett really had thought of everything while preparing for this job, there was even a crude sketch leading to the upper basements.

Taking a right from his position at the wine cellar, he made his way through the twisty caverns of the second level basement, heading toward the weapon store. He chuckled a bit as he reached the door leading into said cache, it was a typical iron door, with two crossed ax's. Shrugging a bit, he tried the knob, to his amazement it was open. He cautiously peered inside, it was too dark for a normal person to see, but to Harry it was just fine. Inside were the usual swards and spears. Heading toward the back, Harry found what he was looking for, the arrows and handheld devices. Just because he couldn't use a lot of it yet didn't mean his accomplice couldn't; like Garrett always said the more you can scrounge now means the less you have to spend later, his words held merit as Harry stocked up on everything he could carry.

Once again creeping along the path, many arrows and flashbombs heavier, Harry decided it was best to pick up the pace and get this thing underway. Moving as a faster rate, many minutes later found Harry at the foot of a stairwell, straining to hear voices just beyond.

"Did you hear, old Bafford's got a new jewel he's showin' off," said a muffled voice. Harry assumed it was one of the kitchen staff being that this particular staircase led to the upper wine cellars.

"Yeah, I hear it's pretty rare, Ellen actually saw it, she said it's amazing," replied a women in awe.

"I hear he's got it locked up with some pretty high end ward. Hank said he saw goblins running about in that showroom of his. It'd take a master curse breaker to even lay a fingernail on that beauty I'll tell you that."

'Master Curse Breaker eh? We'll see about that,' mused Harry as he silently crept up the stairs, sticking to the shadows.

Before long, he was at the base of the stone wine store; two figures were picking out the fine wine for their guests, unaware of their visitor. Harry quietly snuck up behind the closest one, applied pressure with his index and middle finger around the base of his neck, and saw him fall like a pile of bricks.

"Oh don't make such a racket Nigel, we've got work to do," said his companion, hunched over a wine rack.

Harry moved behind her and mirrored his previous action, she joined her friend in unconsciousness soon after. Harry then took the time to examine the wine rack as well, searching for the rare and aged wines; finding five bottles of pretty good ale, Harry moved on, the next set of stairs would lead him into the kitchen, and far more lighting then he'd prefer.

Creeping up the stone steps, Harry prepared himself for anything. He equipped his trusty water bombs, they were more or less just water balloons but until he was strong enough to use an arrow he'd have to stick with them.

Harry quickly extinguished the torch nearest him as he ghosted up the stairs. Perching himself in the newly dark corner, Harry examined his surroundings, there was in island roughly three meters from his position; behind it lay the door to the hopefully vacant dining hall. To its right stood a meat locker, a cutting board, and a stove. To Harry's relief the kitchen was empty, at twelve at night not many were in need of culinary sustenance. Picking up a few apples, and golden goblets as he passed, he continued in his assent.

Moving over to the door, Harry peered in; relieved it was dark and motionless. Moving in, he went to the table, he was pleased to notice most of the candle holders were golden. There were fifteen dishes laid out in all, seven on either side and one on the end, presumably for Bafford himself. Plates closest to his were golden and would bring in a reasonable pay, the others were just regular old pewter plates.

Going to the far end of the room, a grand wooden door stood before him. Checking his map once again, he found it would lead him to the main hall; a place of importance for it led to the staircase to the next floor.

Easing himself out the door and into the nearest corner, Harry enjoyed the fact that most of the flooring was either carpeting or stone; he would make quick work out of this job. Extinguishing lamps as he crept along the hallway, Harry heard voices approaching from the opposite end. Thinking fast, he concentrated on the darkness around him, hoping against all odds it would engulf him into invisibility.

"I say, they're not sure what it is exactly," said the elegant voice of a nobleman.

"Where did you say they found it?" asked a man in a high voice, probably a common worker.

"Oh that's the amazing part; they said it was in some temple," began the first excitedly. "It was in the Maw of Chaos no less, it was the only thing in there. It was surrounded by these weird torches, the fire wasn't orange but blue; it freaked out the unspeakables let me tell you."

As the pair was mere inches from Harry's form, they stopped again. The worker seemed to scratch his chin in thought. "It was pitch black you say? No spots, discoloration? Not even a crack?"

The noblemen, dressed in red and gold robes, clean shaven face, and pleasant blue eyes, shook his head. "Not a single one. It was awful shiny though, you could see yourself in it, like you're lookin' into a black mirror or something."

The worker, in considerably less fashionable clothing, shook his head in confusion, "Well I don't know what to make of it, maybe the boys down in the Department of Mysteries will know what to do with it."

"Right you are," agreed the nobleman.

As the two walked right, past the still figure of a master thief in training, Harry wondered briefly why a nobleman would willingly speak to a member of the staff. Shaking it off, but sure to mention it to Garrett later, Harry continued in the direction of the stairs.

Finally achieving his goal, he ascended the stairs, pleased to notice the torches were all extinguished.

'This must be part of the residence wing,' thought Harry as he checked his map again, having reached the top.

Slowly creeping about Harry took to the rooms like a dolphin leaping about in water. In one room, stealing everything he could find, and then out into the next repeating what he'd just done.

In the end he didn't find much, merely a bit of pocket change, a few coin purses, and some silver statuettes. Before he made his way to the next floor, Harry could see a shadow passing about in the darkness on the other side of the hall. He noticed instantly it was Garrett, waving a bit, he went up the next flight of stairs; ever closer to his final destination.

The Next floor was rich in color, dark red and gold tapestries hung from nearly every wall, in between said tapestries were brilliant suits of armor, spaced along the ceiling were three golden chandeliers, showing the area in elegant strands of light.

Harry, unimpressed by the magnificent show, proceeded with his work. There were only two rooms in this wing, one leading to Lord Bafford's personal quarters, the other leading to the newly constructed showroom for the Fire Opal.

Feeling slightly ambitious, Harry took to Bafford's chambers. Finding the door locked, Harry applied his lockpicks with expert hands. After opening the door and easing himself into the room, he took caution to make as little noise as possible.

Bafford's room was a bit over the top for Harry's liking; deep purple carpet dominated the ground, red and gold tapestries depicting dragons and other mythical creatures lined the walls. A small library of books stood at the opposite end of the wall from Bafford's bed. The bed itself was at least double the largest market size, thick hippogriff down comforters layered atop one another to keep the bed nice and cozy. A desk stood across Harry's position, above which loomed a large arched window starting at the ceiling and ending just before the desk.

Making out a small book atop said desk, Harry noiselessly made his way over for a closer look; his only companion was the silent shuffling of his own feet.

Opening to the latest entry, Harry read the words easily in the faint moonlight.

_I am having a little gathering to show off my new jewel. It is quite an exquisite piece of art if I do say so myself; a brilliant transparent red, perfectly spherical, and naturally formed. I had a special room built just for the jewel and I am quite pleased with the final outcome. I have added special goblin wards around the stone. I do not look forward to a similar incident as with my silver staff._

_Lord Charles speaks of interesting findings on his latest expedition into the Maw of Chaos. He speaks of a black egg, smooth and warm to the touch, mirror like to the eye. His interest is peaked as to the contents of such a relic. Officials from the Ministry, the Department of Mysteries I think it is, have taken it to their protected study area for further tests. They have agreed to inform Charles and myself of any developments; be it hatching, cracks, or odd symbols, whatever the case may be._

_I cannot help but feel this may be a plot by the Trickster himself. As of recent there have been no living thing in the Maw save for the vile servants of The Trickster. I sincerely hope we do not release another plague upon The Builder's land. _

_Aside from the egg, Charles reports nothing else; I pray The Builder keeps it that way._

Harry memorized the page so he could allow Garrett a good look at it later. This egg was quite the popular topic of discussion, too popular to go unnoticed by the apprentice thief. If it was anything of value then it would definitely be guarded, and what better place to put a valuable item then in the confines of a department that technically didn't even exist.

Taking a golden ring from a nightstand, Harry made his way back into the third floor hallway. Finally, his target was within reach. Going over to the only other door in the hall, Harry put his ear to the door; he could hear faint voices from within. Cursing softly for being forced to wait the visitors out, Harry listened in on the conversation.

"Bafford it truly is a work of art, simply a work of art," a refined man boasted.

"Yes, yes it was simply a treat to see such a marvelous piece of art," spoke Lady Elizabeth, Harry identified her from his previous stake out of the house.

"What kind of protection did you say was around this fine jewel?" spoke the unnamed man.

"Ah, funny you should bring that up, I was just getting to that."

'Go on, spill all your little secrets,' said a Garrett like voice in Harry's head.

"It's the latest in goblin protection wards, cost quite a pretty knut might I add. Whoever dares to lift the jewel from the cradle will instantly be rendered unconscious until a ministry auror sets he or she awake again. Simple yes; but effective and trustworthy."

"Even yourself?" asked the man.

"Yes, Edmond, even myself. I see no reason to disturb it from its resting place. Plus, should I be under the imperious, the assailant will be no closer to the jewel then any other petty thief."

Roughly fifteen minutes passed, the nobility spoke of any and every topic worthy of their attention, and it was beginning to grate on Harry's nerves. Hearing footsteps, Harry kicked into action; flattening himself along the wall just to the side of the door. Just as he'd done so, the doors burst open, revealing the three admirers.

As they passed down the hall, Bafford's voice could be heard, "Come, I'm sure my servants have found the good wine by now, refreshments all around."

Harry took that as an indication of a time limit. If Bafford found his servants taking a little nap while he was still in the building, it would be infinitely hard escaping.

Rushing in before the doors closed, Harry was greeted with near darkness, the only light in the room was the small window directly above the stone. Moving along the rug with ease, Harry paused in front of the dais, pushing his magic into his eyes, he began to see a deep red mist hovering around the pillar. He was looking at the goblin ward, protecting the stone. Equipping his lockpicks like the last time, he saw a small transparent key hole appear in front of him. Inserting the picks he twisted and prodded, listening and feeling for the right spots to poke and turn. It took the better part of ten minutes but, to his surprise and shock, he had disarmed a goblin grade protection ward.

Picking up the stone with tingling fingers, Harry took a moment to examine the ball he had been rewarded with. It wasn't all _that_ impressive, thought Harry as he tossed it into his bag like any other piece of loot.

Producing a small crossbow from his back, Harry attached a rope arrow, and aimed for the window. Pulling the trigger, he achieved his goal; the sound of metal embedding into wood, the unraveling of a well made rope, all aided in the escape of an apprentice thief.

Two shadows met on the roof of a building neighboring the estate of Lord Bafford. To a passerby they would resemble mere night animals out for the evening hunt. To a well trained Keeper, they would cut the figures of a master thief and his apprentice. The only thing that the two descriptions would have in common was that both animal and thief would be out for the night's harvest; one for food, the other for riches.

"Did you get it?" asked the deep voice of Garrett.

"Sure did, it was a piece of cake, just did what I did last time," replied his accomplice, voice full of shadowy glee.

"Good job, you'll give me a run for my money any day now, just leave some for the rest of us eh?"

Chuckling at his mentor's attempt at humor, Harry spoke in a serious tone, "I overheard a few things I think you should take a look at."

Garrett, sensing his protégé's unease, nodded, "When we get home, we'll rest, then I'll take a look."

With that the two shadows melted against their brethren, swimming through the warm July night, reveling in the freedom only darkness could bring them. The peaceful atmosphere was soon to be broken as they neared their base of operations; a piercing plea for help shot through the air and into their sensitive ears.

"Wha?" for a moment Garrett's face showed a flicker of recognition.

"What is it? Who was that?" asked Harry, looking around the edge of their perch for the source of the scream.

Shaking the feeling away, Garrett sprung into action. Just as he'd reached the edge where Harry was keenly keeping an eye on, he saw two streaks pass by a lamp post; one silver, the other brown, not long after, two other dark streaks dashed after the previous.

"There," Garrett and Harry spoke in unison. Nodding to one other, they leapt from the rooftop, barreling down onto their kill like birds of prey.

Dolia DuClair and her niece, Fleur Delacour were not having a good day. They had been making their way to their new apartment, hoping for some peace and quiet, when out of the shadows came two thugs hell-bent on stealing their money among other things. Running as fast as their legs would take then, Dolia did all she could in her situation, she screamed for help. Turning into an ally way, hoping to evade the stalkers, she and her niece had effectively cornered themselves; they were doomed.

"Please," cried Dolia, "take me, spare my girl."

The two figures, hot on their trail, slowed as they calmly stalked their prey.

"Ah don't worry missy, we won't hurt yer little girl… much," spoke one in a nasally voice.

His companion laughed and spoke in a deep bass, "Heh, yeah what Marv said."

Their attackers were but two meters from them when, from the heavens, came two streaks of black vengeance. The two thugs went down with a crash; the resulting scuffle was but a flurry of shadow against shadow. Dolia strained to make out her saviors in the battle just ahead of her, instead all she could register were the sickening cracks, swipes of metal, flesh against flesh, and possibly stone.

With a final grunt the last assailant was knocked unconscious by the smaller of the two remaining figures, Dolia not knowing what their motives were, clutched her quaking pride and joy closer to her chest.

"Please, leave us alone, we don't have anything you'd want," said she in her attempt at a brave voice.

The two figures seemed to dust themselves off, replace their weapons in their proper places, examine the bodies for riches, then they looked to the two frightened young women. There was a moment where all time seemed to stop. The cobalt eyes of the larger shadow met the frightened hazel eyes of his female counterpart, on the same token the smaller shadow's emerald green eyes met with the frightened yet dull blue eyes of the smaller girl. After that brief moment, time restarted.

Their saviors spoke in a hushed conversation Dolia could just barely make out.

"What do we do now?" asked a young voice, a child maybe?

The older looked back at the two, directly at Dolia, and then back at the smaller shadow. "Lets ah, let's go. Our work here is done."

Dolia swore she had recognized that voice; she identified it with a handsome young man she had once known. An adventurer, a rouge, a thief, but above all, the man who had taken her heart before disappearing from existence. She shook her head, quashing such thoughts, he wouldn't be here now; he wouldn't save her.

The two figures turned and proceeded to leave the ally way, seeming to glide along the ground, making no noise as they moved.

Standing at the foot of the shadowed stoop of their apartment, Harry stood watch over the vacant living space, not too far from his current position. Garrett had another one of his hunches, ordering Harry to keep watch over the still apartment for a while, he told him to report anything he found. So here he was, not five minutes returning home and already sneaking about.

Harry was snapped out of his musing as the door to the apartment complex opened, admitting two people, Harry guessed by the footfalls that one was around the age of 27 and 35, the other was roughly his age, seven. The brown haired women he'd seen in the ally way made her way to the door of the vacant apartment, followed closely by her silver haired companion.

"We're home now Fleur, no one can hurt us here," spoke the older woman in a slightly shaky voice.

"Who were those two strangers mama?" spoke the girl. Harry noticed there was a faint French accent to her voice, not knowing why, he seemed to like it.

The older woman paused, not knowing how to answer her curious niece. "They were just strangers dear, nothing to worry about." Harry noticed her voice was that of a businesswoman, stern, yet to her companion, caring.

As the pair entered their new quarters, the smaller girl, turned her silver head in Harry's direction. They stared at one another for a moment, Harry from his shadowy corner, the girl from the well lit hallway. What shocked Harry the most was the immense sadness that plagued her eyes, not to mention the fact that she could see him clear as day. Turning away from Harry, the girl went into her home, and with a soft click Harry snapped out of his daze.

Climbing up the shadowy staircase, walking through the threshold, and plopping down onto the couch, Harry sighed in exhaustion.

"Well, you were right after all. What's more, the girl can see me," said Harry, peering down at his friend.

Garrett, who was lying sprawled on the rug like he had just died, had a look of frozen fear on his face.

"Hey, what's up? You look like you've seen a ghost, have been ever since we took care of those thugs. You alright?" asked Harry, genuinely concerned for the closest thing to a father he'd ever had.

Sighing, Garrett replied, "I did see a ghost, a ghost from my past if you will. I didn't think I'd run into her again, but now…" he trailed off, returning to the recesses of his mind.

Harry assumed there was some kind of history between Garrett and the woman they'd saved. Harry took pride in knowing the goings on of Garrett's previous life, pre Harry as he'd put it, but this was possibly something from a chapter he wasn't willing to divulge and Harry respected that.

"Hey, I have to unwind a bit, I'll be on the roof if you need me," said Harry, heaving himself up from the couch.

Garrett nodded absently and said, "When you get back tell me about this conversation you overheard. Also be careful of the girl, if what you say is true, then we're both at risk around her."

The moment he set foot onto the gravel, he knew he was being watched. Pretending to play it off as if there weren't a pair of distant blue eyes watching him, Harry moved over to his favorite spot on the roof. It always calmed him when he was above it all, looking down at everyone going about their business. Even at night things were still busy in this city, never stopping, always moving in some direction or another. His musings were interrupted by a tentative voice.

"I never had a chance to thank you… for what you did that is…" the voice trailed off. Harry noted that it was the girl with the faint accent.

Harry turned to see her move away from her hiding place behind a ventilation unit, she moved slowly toward him, hands intertwined with one another in front of her, her eyes shyly diverted.

Harry, unsure of how to deal with something like this hesitantly responded, "Well, you're welcome, I guess," finished Harry sheepishly.

The girl giggled a bit, it was like something out of heaven, thought Harry. He also noticed her eyes lost some of their gloom, replaced with a small twinkle that really brought out her vivid blue orbs.

The girl, closed the large gab between them, her silvery hair glowing an unearthly blue in the moonlight. Stretching a single milky hand out she said, "I'm Fleur Delacour,"

"Harry, just Harry," said he, extending his own, slightly rough hand to meet her smooth one. As the two hands met a dizzying warm feeling washed over the pair, later they would assign fatigue to the feeling, it would be many years before either knew the full extent of the simple 'fatigue' they were experiencing.

"Nice to meet you," said Harry, a small flush playing on his normally calm face.

Fleur, also slightly pink in the cheeks said, "Nice to meet you too,"

It was then that a friendship was forged, uncertain at first, yet solidifying ever more as time went by. The two companions watched the cityscape until well after dawn.

Garrett sensed his protégé leave for his quiet place atop the roof of their apartment building. He was alone now, alone with his thoughts, alone with his memories. They flooded his mind with no remorse; one after another they played like broken records over and over again. The first time he'd set foot into her shop bearing priceless pieces of art. Her cool and level headed attitude toward his findings, never giving him the slightest complement, never giving into the hero worship that spread like wildfire throughout the black market underground. She was the only one out of all of them he'd actually enjoyed dealing with, always fair, and to the point. He remembered her face; light brown hair held in an elegant bun, faint bangs trailing her flawless cheeks, her glasses, slightly too big for her gave her a rather cute mousey complexion he couldn't resist. He remembered when he'd robbed the largest museum in the measly city; he remembered the glee that played in her eyes and his desire to keep it there.

He was saved from the endless rampage of memories by a gentle knock on the door. Assuming it was Harry who'd forgotten his key again, heaved himself from his place next to the warm fire. Moving to open the door, he was met by the last person he wanted to see at the moment.

There, just beyond the threshold stood his former art fence, Dolia Duclair.

"Hello, Garrett, fancy meeting you here."

All he could do was stare in silent shock. Numbness washed over him, the feeling of falling from a high building, and then dizziness immense dizziness, and finally blissful black.

Seeing the Master Thief faint was not what Dolia expected, shaking her head, she began dragging the lug onto the carpet. This was going to be a long night.

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**AN: Well, there you have it, let me know what you think. I know where this is all going but I'm still open to your ideas if you have any do let me know. Thanks again for reading this garbage.**


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